Love and Longing in Manhattan
by amateurartist
Summary: Andrea Sachs, a former fashion designer for Miranda Priestly, quits the design scene and needs money. Lonely and broke, Andrea begins to work as an art teacher and forms an unexpected but steamy romance with an older man. What will happen? Read, find out
1. Prologue

_Prologue_

A phone rings, loud and insistent; she stumbles out of bed and trips, tangled in her beloved silk sheets. Half crawling, half limping, she makes it to her bathroom and grabs her phone.

" Hello? Andrea speaking." At first, she hears nothing on the other end, but a deep, rich voice responds,

"Andrea Sachs? I am Samuel Linden and I wish to offer you a job."

She inwardly groaned at the mention of her family's name. Her father, Henry Sachs, owns one of the biggest oil and natural gas companies in the United States, making her father, her sister, Ivana, and her, the oldest child, sufficiently wealthy and renowned. She constantly wishes for a different life, a different family, but she is the heiress of one of the world's richest companies and she, quite honestly, wants none of it. She hates the attention, the gossip and rumors, and just wishes people would quit trying to pry into her life.

_Strange…_she thinks. _What could this man possibly want to hire me for?_ She is a fashion designer, so she has never considered working as an art teacher.

"What, may I ask, would you 'wish' to hire me for?"

"Ms. Sachs, I would like to offer you a position as an art teacher at Manhattan Elementary Have you heard of it?"

Thoughts swarmed her mind, Manhattan Elementary…art teacher…

"I have, actually. Is that the all-boys high school on the Upper West side?"

"Indeed, Ms. Sachs. So, what do you say?"

_Grrr…_she thinks, _I'm not Ms. Sachs, that's my mom._

"Well, it is rather short notice. And, please, call me Andrea. What is the rush? It's only February, right in the middle of the school year."

She heard him clear his thought loudly. "Well," he said in a shaky voice, laced with deep emotion, "Our former teacher, Mr. Connolly, is…no longer with us and, due to this unexpected tragedy. We are missing and art teacher, and, had no one lined up. My sources say you are a highly acclaimed fashion designer and fresh out of college, living without a job, not that you need to…with your father's company and things."

"I'm guessing you don't want an interview?"

"Correct."

"Well…I think that stepping into this without further thinks is unwise. May I get back to you…say on Sunday?"

"Sure, Ms. Sachs…I MEAN ANDREA. Sunday then? Just call back at this number, thank you for considering on such short notice."

"It's OK. Bye now."

She hung up, not waiting for a response. She realized that blood had oozed all over her white phone, but it didn't bother her. _What should I do?_ She thinks.


	2. Chapter 1

_Chapter 1_

Andrea continues to sleep well into the afternoon; she intended to wake up early and finish some house chores, but the alarming phone call only made her want to crawl back under the covers and never come out. She finally awakes at noon and decides to tackle those chores. _Yayy_…she thinks. She walks down the stairs and finds her list of chores to do pinned to the fridge with a magnet. It read "Meh." perfectly describing how she currently feels. "Meh." she said loudly, when all of a sudden. She hears a feline, "Mrrmph!" from the corner of the kitchen. Her cat, Felix, (after the old cartoon) stands up from his comfortable bed, stretches, yawns and pads over to her. She looks down at him as he begins to meow loudly. "Guess I missed feeding you breakfast?" she says to the little guy, her only companion in the upscale, two story apartment. She loves the little guy and feels that, usually, he feels the same way, probably because she provides him a place to sleep and food to eat. Oh well, she is happy to serve.

The rest of the day passes uneventfully, Andrea vacuums, dusts, sweeps, makes her bed, empties out Felix' litter box, cleans her ball python, Jake's, cage, and made herself a pina colada. _Life is complete. _she thinks. After all the stupid chores she had to do before her father visited, she grabbed a book and her pina colada and went to sit by the complex' roof pool, hoping to catch a tan. Whenever her father visited, he complained; he complained about her cat, about her snake, about her clothes, her hair, and especially her home. He insisted she live under nicer conditions, but the apartment was actually one of the nicest ones in Manhattan. He and her mother live in an obnoxious mansion in Boston, which Andrea refuses to move to and rarely visits, so her dad makes a yearly visit to her apartment in Manhattan and her mother she only sees when she visits for major holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas. Anyways, the house needed to be spotless by tomorrow and she needed to be looking her best. Speaking of that…she realized she needed a lot more self-grooming before she passed her dad's inspection. _Uggggh_ she thinks. She knew what she had to do: pedicure, manicure, waxing, and _grooooaaaan_ shopping.

On the bright side, Manhattan was the best place to shop and, quite honestly, sells a lot of her size. Andrea is one of those women everyone is jealous of, well; she eats whatever she wants, rarely exercises, and manages to keep a nice figure. In her opinion, she was nothing more than average but she inherited her father's striking green eyes and deep brown hair and her mother's straight nose and luscious lips, all attractive features. She has light brown skin and is around five feet and 6 inches with long legs and flat abs, but she also has curves, ones that guys ogle over, but her dad did not approve of how she dresses and now she gets to experience the disapproval she felt from her family all through high school all over again. _Yippee!_


	3. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2_

_Ready!_ Andrea thinks cheerily as she makes lasagna, her favorite dish, in preparation for her father's arrival for dinner that Saturday and the rest of the weekend. The oven door slams shut just as she hears a car door slam. She looks out the kitchen window and sees a stern looking, middle aged man in an expensive suit step out of an obnoxious limousine. _Great…_she thinks; it's her father. Straightening her hair and smoothing out her dress, she walks to the door and tries to prepare herself for the weekend ahead. Thankfully he needed to get back to Sachs headquarters so he will fly out Monday morning, but she just now remembers that she is supposed to give that man an answer on his offer by then. Her doorbell brings her back to reality. _Here I go…_she thought anxiously as she plasters on a pleasant smile and opens the front door. Here he was, Henry Sachs, in all his six foot glory: her stern, workaholic, and millionaire father.

"Hello, darling." He smiles and shakes her hand firmly and briskly, maintaining his usual air of formality. Her parents were never nurturing, but they always see to her needs.

"Hello, Hungry? Lasagna's in the oven."

"Actually, Alfred picked me up a pastrami sandwich on the way and I can't say I enjoy lasagna."

_Bastard…_she remarks to herself. He never liked her cooking and refuses to eat it. _Why do I even bother?_ she wonders.

"That's fine. I'm starved though. Please, allow Alfred to bring your things to the guest room." Without waiting for him to protest she turns and walks back to the kitchen. Sure enough, he follows her and comments:

"Your apartment seems…comfortable?" He ends the statement like a question; he has never seen her apartment but judging by the rent he decided over the phone that it was a dump.

"Yes, I decorated it myself, but Madam Zhang down the street helped me to feng shui the rooms." she said, struggling to defend her dearly loved home.

"Fung Shwi?" He says in an extremely poor pronunciation.

"Feeennggg Shhuuuuiii" she says, emphasizing each syllable, "It's an ancient Chinese tradition of organizing your home to maintain the natural balance of Ying and Yang. To me, the house feels so soothing and enlightening." She tries her hardest to dissuade him from attempting to change her into a perfect daughter like her sister Ivana, because she will never be math and science oriented like them or so focused on money that they cannot enjoy simple things in life.

Dinner passes Saturday with Andrea eating her favorite lasagna and her dad staring at her table manners in disgust. She refuses to wipe her mouth off until she finished eating, the red pasta sauce crusting around her lips. She notices with satisfaction that her dad's face grew paler and paler with each noise she made. He swallows loudly and wipes a sleeve across his forehead as if he had been sweating,

"Well, I had a long day and want to rest. Until tomorrow then."

With that brief explanation, Andrea's father saunters into the guest room and closes the door without a final glance in her direction. Andrea stares at the door for a few moments before sighing and washing her plate._ Well that went well. How will we make it through the weekend?" _She retires to her bedroom, comforted by the familiar video games, paint splattered walls, olive bedspread, and cherry mahogany furniture. Her bedroom is the only one in the apartment that had not been feng shui'd, considering the layout and meaningfully placed piles of junk; it was calming in its own way. As she gets ready to sleep, she remembers a question her dad asked that she had left unanswered. He had offered her money for rent, but she had refused. He continued to ask her, "How do you plan on paying rent? You don't seem to be making much money of your writing…"

She had grunted in frustration as she said, "Not writer, Painter! I have some money saved up; I keep telling you guys that I can take care of myself, especially without being judged constantly about every little, fucking thing I do!" She regretted cussing, but what was said, was said. She did not regret speaking her mind. Thinking back, she realizes that it had been childish and immature to blow up at her father, it wasn't his fault she was a failing designer. _How will I pay rent?_ She bangs her fists on the table, careful not to smash anything in their path, and glances at her broken alarm clock. Andrea had always been strong, and quick. When her mom was alive, she claimed that Andrea would grow up to be a professional athlete; Andrea used to do Tae Kwon Do, Soccer, Tennis, and any other sport her mom could sign her up for. Now, she hates the discrimination and organization of sports and rarely watches, or plays, anything formal. Occasionally she would play Ultimate Frisbee or street soccer with her friends, but sports also brought back many memories of her childhood and mother. Pleasant memories that seem to tease her with their beauty and simplicity, but were so far from her grasp that she could not help but feel depressed. Looking up at her black ceiling, glitter "stars" twinkling from the faint strip of light coming from a nearby street light. She wishes for peace with her father the next day and relishes in the moment alone. She constantly assures herself it is better this way: living alone and being single, but sometimes her own reassurance is not enough. Although she is loath to admit it, she wants someone to truly care for her, to listen to her answer of how her day went, or a person to like her for who she is, not who her father is. In truth, she does not date much. A few flings here and there, but she has not found someone she wishes to spend the rest of her life with. The only boys she could say were her boyfriends were Jimmy, her high school sweetheart, and her numerous college playmates. She has dated serious men, boring men, sexist men, but no one that she felt understood her. To them, she is just a crazy lady that seems a little too liberal; it is almost impossible to find New Yorkers her age that were anywhere similar to her. She has a few friends: Jenna, the well-meaning health nut, her husband, Randy, who was one of Andrea's fling in college, and her token gay friends Paul and Charlie, who you could always rely on for fashion or men advice. Andrea also knew various people who "dabbled in the arts" as she did, thought she spent little more than a few nights at clubs and galleries with the group.

The next morning Andrea woke up early to make her dad eggs Benedict and bacon, his favorite meal. Henry emerged from his room with pajamas on half an hour later with a smile on his face. Andrea cannot help but gawk at his newfound behavior.

"Smells good. I sure am ready for breakfast."

"I made eggs Benedict, mom used to always say it was your favorite meal."

He pauses and seems to contemplate what she said. Both of them continued to hurt from the memory of her mom's death. She had died of breast cancer when Andrea was only seven years old. Andrea remembers something a family friend had said a few years ago at one of her father's Christmas parties. _You were so young; I doubt you even remember her. HERE_

"Your mother was always right. Thanks darling."

Andrea gingerly places his plate in front of him and pours orange juice for both of them.

"Dad." she states curtly.

He looks up at her from his high plate of breakfast and replies with a

"Yes?"

"About my rent…I wanted to tell you that Manhattan Elementary offered me a teaching position, in art. Pay is $1000 per month and I would teach Mondays through Thursdays." She says quickly, not pausing to take a breath.

"Teaching? You. A teacher?"

He covers his face in his hands and rubs his eyes drowsily.

"I never imagined a Sachs being a teacher, well; I guess I never expected to raise a designer either. You are one of a kind, Andrea. One. Of. A. Kind."

They both know he intends not to compliment her. Andrea sighs; he continues to cover his face, trying to hold back his anger.

"Should I accept? I admit I need the cash." She finds herself hoping for his approval, like a silly dog returning a stick during a game of Fetch.

He finally uncovers his face to scoff at her plea. "Darling, you know you never need money as long as Sachs Industries is in business, but go ahead! You never gave me the opportunity to make your decisions; if you refuse to use my money then I guess you must do what you must do."

Andrea feels he meant to reassure her about their economic situation, but she hates the mention of the family's company, or its wealth. The only thing she can think to say.

"Thanks."

The rest of breakfast passes in silence, much like dinner the night before. After washing their plates, Andrea's dad enters the kitchen.

"Can I help?"

This random question catches Andrea off guard. She doubts her dad has not ever washed a dish in his manicured life, nor does she suspect he wants to.

"Ummm…Sure? I'll scrub, you rinse."

He laughs, "That's what your mom always used to say."

Andrea continues to hand him soapy dishes, which he expertly rinses and sets on the rack to dry. She thinks to herself about the kitchen when her mom, dad, Ivana, and her all lived together. Back then, Henry worked for a smaller business firm and their family was not nearly as wealthy as they live now. Her mom insisted on cooking all dinners, she was an amazing cook. Ivana and Andrea ate her packed lunches at school and Henry took a lunch to the office as well. Andrea cannot say she remembers her dad ever doing dishes with mom, but then again, she was usually put to bed directly after dinner.

The pair washes their two plates and glasses fairly quickly and soon the orderly assembly erupts into loud laughter and sud throwing, leaving them both soaped and sopping wet. Andrea hears her dad laugh for real after a long time, and she finds herself enjoying him more than ever before. For a moment, things were back to normal. In her mind, she imagined her mom seated femininely at the table, sipping herbal tea and laughing at their silliness. Ivana would either be in bed or running around their legs, trying to join in on the fun. They end up sitting on her dirty tile floor, leaned against the kitchen counter, still laughing too much to talk. Her dad quickly sobers up and stands,

"Sorry, I was going to meet a client downtown before my flight, so I guess I should start heading out."

"Oh. Okay." Andrea does not even try to hide her disappointment as she sits on the floor, wet and suddy and watches her dad call his driver to pick him up and get his baggage.

She watched TV while he showers and answers the door for Wilson, his driver.

"In there." She points to the guest room as the door opens and her dad, hair wet and clothes righted emerges.

Wilson says nothing but picks up his suitcase and briefcase and heads back to the limo.

Her dad starts to step towards the front door before turning around to face her.

"I am sorry for not being the father you deserve; I honestly only want you to be happy. If teaching makes you happy, then teach away."

Tears filled Andrea's eyes and she tries to blink them away, but she has held them back so many times the past two days that she cannot resist.

"Oh daddy." She uses the name she stopped calling him since she was seven, now she is twenty seven.

Andrea reaches out towards him and they embrace, Andrea's tears and snot probably mess up his suit, but he does not complain, nor does he cry. The only times Andrea has seen her father cry was at her mother's hospital bed the night she died and the funeral that followed. The moment her mother's heart stopped, Andrea and her father had been by her bedside; Andrea had been reading "Pride and Prejudice," her mother's favorite book, aloud while Henry rested his head on her lap and held her hand as it went limp. Unlike what that nosy family friend had perceived, Andrea remembers a lot about her kind, caring mother. As her heart slowed, Andrea's mother looked into her eyes and simply said that she wanted them to always be happy, because she would never fade from their lives. Andrea wakes up many mornings and tells herself that she is happy persevering in what she loves, fashion, and is doing what her mother would want, but she knows there is more to life; she just needs to find out what it is. In her search, Andrea surrounds herself with new friends, new activities, and new lovers, but she still is not satisfied.


	4. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3_

For the first time of all his visits, Andrea is sad to see her dad go. She tries not to linger on the resurging memories and remembers that she had promised to call the Samuel Linden guy from Manhattan Elementary back.

"Hello? Ms. Sachs?"

Mr. Linden answers on the first ring,

"Hello, I am just calling back to accept your job offer. When do I begin?"

"Splendid, splendid! I am the principle at Manhattan Elementary. If you can stop by tomorrow morning and fill out some paperwork, you will begin tomorrow afternoon with your first art class! Of course we provide all the art materials you will need but if there is anything you are missing, you can just purchase it yourself and I'll make sure you are reimbursed later. Any questions?"

"Not really…Wait! What time should I be at the school?"

"Well…you would want adequate time to fill out the legal work and set up the class room…so how about 6?"

Andrea groans inwardly, she is not used to having a job. "Sounds great…see you tomorrow!"

"Bye now."

"Goodbye."

Without realizing what she was doing, Andrea plasters on a fake smile as if Mr. Linden could actually see her. _OK…_she thought_ I can do this! _It's certain. She now works at Manhattan Elementary as an art teacher. As Andrea microwaves a frozen meal for lunch, she feels both excitement and nervousness about her new occupation. _What if the children don't like me? What if I don't know what to teach? _Thousands of insecurities flood her mind that day. With so much to think about before the next morning, Andrea ends up cleaning her whole apartment, eating dinner, and then she begins to clear out her closet of old clothes to donate to charity. Andrea makes a pile of torn or stained clothing and pile for donation which were both pretty large. Even so, she has tons of clothes in her closet that she probably does not need or will not wear again. She tells herself she does not enjoy shopping, but when she goes with her friends she always finds tons of deals and bargains and cannot help but buy. With vacuumed carpet, sweeped tile, and wiped surfaces she spends a while deciding on her outfit for her first day of teaching. _Hmmmm…_she thought. _I want something crisp and proper, but still feminine. Perfect!_ Her eyes locked onto an expensive, designer dress that seemed to have two parts: a button down, short sleeve top with an attached knee-length, pencil skirt. She grabbed a pair of black leather heels, black sheer hose, and a leather purse then ironed the dress. By the time the clothes on the floor were bagged up either for donation or trash and her outfit was hanging in her closet, ready for the morning, it was already 11pm. She watches "Comedy Central" until midnight, sets her alarm clock, and heads to bed.

"Goodmorning Krusty Crew! Goodmorning Krusty Crew!" Andrea wakes up to the blaring of her SpongeBob alarm clock, 5:30am. She groans and slaps the snooze button hard, surprising that the cheap contraption does not shatter. Soon, she falls back asleep, but another alarm disturbs her slumber. She is about to finish off the device when she remembers what today is. _Shit! _she thinks_ Gotta go to work! Gotta go to work!_ She jumps out of bed and turns off the alarm, rushing to the bathroom while simultaneously hopping out of her shorts and taking off her shirt. She goes to the bathroom, brushes her teeth, and washes her face. Then she runs over to the closet and finds her clothes hanging from the night before. She puts them on and walks steadily to the kitchen to eat a bagel and make some black coffee. Ten minutes later she is in a taxi where the dashboard reads 5:50am. _Damn it…_she thinks, hoping she will not be late.

"I need to get to Manhattan Elementary. And step on it!"

"Uh…Yes mam! Right away!"

With that the chubby driver takes off from the front of her apartment and Andrea takes one final glance at the dashboard before giving up and watching as the familiar sites of her neighborhood blur in the window.


	5. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4_

"Your stop. mam."

"Thanks…Here's a twenty."

Andrea steps out of the taxi shakily and looks up at the school. She has driven by the building hundreds of times in the past, but it seems as though she is seeing it for the first time. She takes it all in: the cracked sidewalk with chalked in pastel hearts and stick figures, the high wrought iron fence, the US flag billowing in front of the two-story, colonial brick building. A metal sign sits on top of the awning at the front of the school that read Manhattan Elementary School. The playground peeks out from behind the building with its bright red slide, swings, and wooden sandbox. The only audible noise in the still air of the Manhattan morning is the faint sound of car horns and engines. She feels out of place in her proper uniform but assumes the rich parents of the kids that can afford to live in Manhattan will dress similarly. Andrea takes a deep breath and walks into the school where she finds a fluorescent lighted hallway with childish paintings and brightly colored insects stapled to various bulletin boards. She smells a strange combination of paint, soap, sweat, and new plastic. Her heels clack on the black tile floor as she looks for Mr. Linden's office. Sure enough she finds a door marked "Principle Linden" down a well-lit hallway.

"Hello?"

The door opens and there stand Samuel Linden. He is probably only around 5"6' compared to Andrea's 6 foot height. He has messy brown hair, large, wide-rimmed glasses, a large belly, and wore a cheap gray suit. His genuine smile warmed her up and she could not help the matching grin that appeared on her face.

"Hello. I'm Andrea Sachs, here to fill out that paperwork you required?"

"Ahh…It's a pleasure to meet the illustrious fashion designer Andrea Sachs! Yes, yes. The paperwork. Please, come into my office."

Andrea's smile grew even wider as she noted that he addressed her as a fashion designer instead of the daughter of Henry Sachs. She likes her new employer; he is so much better than her former boss, Miranda Priestly.

"Sounds good."

Thirty minutes later Andrea is a certified teacher and can legally teach art at Manhattan Elementary. She grips the room keys tightly in her palm and looks at the name on the neck band, Mr. Stolls, must be the teacher that used to teach art in that room. She heads over to the room and checks out the facility. Posters of famous Van Gogh and M.C. Escher paintings cover the walls along with children's paintings varying from finger-painted flowers to wildly distorted self-portraits. The room smells of clay, damp paper towels, colored pencils, and acrylic paint. _Perfume name? _She asks herself. _Dirty Fingernails._ The room contains six large tables, paint splotched and dusty, as well as a whole wall of windows and cubbies for storing art supplies. She also notices several easels with paint bottles left open and paint brushes left wet. She is not a painter, but she has some experience from college and can tell that her small amount of training will suffice for the six-year-olds she will be instructing in only a couple of hours. _Shit!_ She thinks…She only has a couple of hours to plan out her first lesson. It is 7:00am and her class is at 1:00pm. Well, she has six hours to clean the room, come up with a lesson plan, and buy supplies for her students. Checking her class list, she sees around twenty students, boys and girls, of multiple races. She reads several of the names to herself: _Charles Hathaway, Eloise Garcia, Aaron Han, Mia Hillford, and an adorable boy named Matthew Green._ She giggles aloud as she looks down at the six-year-old adorable faces smiling back at her. _I can handle this._ She realizes that this is not a mistake.

She looks up at the ceiling and closes her eyes.

"Thanks Mom." She whispers_. It's time to start living again._


	6. I HAVE MOVED TO FIGMENT

I HAVE MOVED TO FIGMENT!

please follow me, comment, and heart! /users/13607-Lauren


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